


Shadow Sovereign

by Shinyo_Hi



Series: Overshadowed [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25050313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinyo_Hi/pseuds/Shinyo_Hi
Summary: Truth: A daughter given away for the sake of concluding war.Lies: Her age. The throne. Lineage. Being.What's there true to say about this woman?
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Overshadowed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814284
Kudos: 1





	Shadow Sovereign

There’s a melancholic silence bothering me in these ruins. It forces me to keep my mouth shut and grind my teeth. For hours some have stood here whereas others, like myself, have only just begun attending. 

There is no drab funeral here. It’s one which, of course, takes place in what look like enchanted ruins, but one overrun with blossoming flowers. Hundreds of noiseless people have congregated in this, a pastel paradise; one of my favorite flowers are a frontrunner here — two-toned, ruffly carnations. 

This funeral wasn’t one for a woman I knew personally. Other individuals here would say opposite as they worked under her for years. Today held the _per annum_ funeral of an unnamed Queen. With the nodding of heads and risings of knelt bodies, it’s safe to assume it’s over. 

Across the crowd, I see our Queen with a little girl. The girl looks younger than me, one with blonde hair like mine. The two are hugg– _no_. 

I attempt to remember a more professional word, as I’ve been taught to. 

They are _embracing_. 

None wear black more stylishly than the– than _our_ present, living Queen though she isn’t too much older than me. The Queen wears a feminine and flowy, black, cold-shoulder blouse and a garnet chain of office about her neck. 

Everything about her signifies her age and position. She is professional while young and I have only good things to say about her. Leona would say otherwise as she is more advanced in the mind and age than me but first impressions are important, and the first moment I’d met our Queen was after her enthronement. I made an unannounced appearance then too. 

She has always looked at me with a smile. Unlike those who also knew my family. 

Releasing the little girl, into who I’ll guess is _her_ caretaker’s arms, our Queen speak– _converses_ with people around her who actively want to talk to her. 

She’s almost always been in a swarm. People used to keep their distance. Nowadays it’s like she isn’t contagious and people, who would be called her subjects, do more than shake her hand. 

I’ve hugged her a couple times. It’s like hugging a family friend since that’s what she is. She knew my uncle and she knows Leona and her husband. She knows all the most important people in my life. 

Our Queen makes her way through the crowd, speaking briefly with those who can catch her. It takes too long for my pea-sized brain to realize she’s walking toward me, or Leona, who stands at my side. Soon she stands before us flanked by two men in black. Like that film.

“Your Majesty,” Leona says, curtsy-ing. 

I follow suit, not wanting to be rude. 

“Rise.” 

Leona and I rise and look at our Queen while the Queen glances down at me. 

I’m tall for my age. Good genes are to blame. I’d be the same height as our Queen say she hadn’t been wearing four-inch ankle boots today. 

The Queen offers the two of us a soft smile. Not with teeth. 

“I saw the two of you arrive. Stragglers,” the Queen jokes. 

Beside me, Leona forces out a laugh. She never found humor anywhere. 

The Queen turns toward me. 

“You seem very grown-up today, Seline.” 

I smile, and thank her, as I’ve been taught to. I couldn’t tell if she were referencing my attitude, or my clothing but I feel very happy to be complimented. 

Today I chose to wear a grey, ruched sweater dress and a black cardigan. It’s the most solemn outfit in my wardrobe I could produce. 

The weather couldn’t have been more hurtful today. My exposed knees sting from the breeze. But braving the cold is the least one could do, especially in paying respect to someone else. 

“It’s lovely to see you too, Leona. I trust Seline has been doing fine — mentally, physically, academically.” 

“Yes, Ma’am,” my caretaker says. Leona’s hand rubs my shoulder as she does when proud of me. “All Level 4’s in her classes, beside a 3 in attendance but we can overlook that, yes?” 

“Of course. We should celebrate!” 

“Celebrate… what?” 

“Seline. Good grades are one thing. Attendance another. But she’s grown up another year since I’ve seen her.” 

Indeed! I just celebrated my fourteenth birthday. Cake and icecream were old favorites of mine but this year I got an icecream cake — a combination of cookies and cream and fudge! My teeth still hurt from eating it but I’ll never tell Leona that. 

“We already celebrated her birthday!” Leona said. This time when she moved, her nails run across my shoulder. I shiver when a breeze comes. “We had a good ‘ole time, didn’t we, girly?” 

I nod. 

“What did you do for your birthday?” the Queen asks. 

I glance to Leona, and she nods for me to speak so I clear my throat. 

“Leona surprised me with my cake in bed, Ma’am. We went out to the movies, then we had a picnic with Tammy and our other neighbors. I opened my presents after a bubble bath and ate dessert for dinner.” 

The Queen smiles broadly. It’s as if she really cares about my _special day_. That can make a girl happy no matter the circumstance. 

“That sounds wonderful! I can’t remember when I had such a busy birthday.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Leona remarks. 

The Queen’s cheeks fall a little but I see her return her smile in full when she notices me looking up at her. Still no teeth. The Queen gestures with a fan of her arms toward those two men behind her. Instantly they walk behind us. 

“Leona… I can promise you I remember a lot. Much more than you, I’m sure. If you don’t mind, I will take Seline to her birthday gift now. I ask for you to stay out here as to not ruin her surprise.” 

I glance up to Leona who seems confused. Under her thick-rimmed glasses I can see her eyebrows trying to touch. 

“But… I… What’s…” Leona tries to make words come out but stutters too much. She clears her throat twice. “I don’t know what you mean. What surprise?” 

“With the Birthday Girl present," the Queen whispered, "I won’t say, Leona. Everyone knows better than to give away the ending.” 

The Queen aims out her arm for me to loop my hand through. I didn’t realize Leona had such a hold on me till she let go of mine. 

Behind me we leave Leona with the two men. I hope she doesn’t make them uncomfortable. 

Curling our arms together, the Queen and I walk down a stone pathway leading to our only visible structure. It looks like a Scottish castle but more modern and made out of painted Legos. 

Neither of us talk. We just take in the scenery. The sunshine-bright, sweet and bitter scented scenery. 

Behind us, the funeral took place in grey ruins. Stone, clay, shale, porcelain, silver, lead — you name it and pieces of it are there. On the ground, marking up the pillars, littered in the grass. I’ve been told the ruins are the one thing not allowed to be cleaned up, let alone touched say for funerals for lost monarchs. 

The funny thing about the ruins is that you don’t see them till you actively look for them. When you walk on one of the several stone pathways leading up to it, like the one we currently walk across away from the ruins, it just seems as if you’re approaching a meadow — one with plenty of flowers mistaken for weeds. When you stood where me and– where _Leona and I_ first stood before joining the assembly of mourners, you could see the brink of the white ruins. When you stand where Leona and I stood for the ceremony, you could see the entrance, you could see what were once windows, you could even spot flag poles in the distance though no flags flew today. 

The flowers slowly lessen in amounts the closer we approach our destination — an abandoned door. When we approach it, I attempt to go and open it for the Queen but she beats me to it. 

Inside we enter a darker hall lined with what I want to say are portraits but only end up looking like vertical bars sticking out from the walls. My eyesight tries to adjust but I’m practically blind from a mental cloth covering my eyes. 

The Queen leads me forward and begi– _initiates_ conversation again. 

“Fourteen years old, huh? How’s that been?” 

I laugh to myself. 

Her word-choice isn’t as professional anymore since it’s just the two of us. The Queen tends to drop the persona when around me, just me. It’s like she can be real with me. And I her. To an extent. 

I shrug the further in we walk. 

“Fourteen is fourteen, I guess.” 

“Fourteen is a nice age. It’s not as dramatic as, say, thirteen, or eighteen but it’s still a year and age. You begin high-school at fourteen, you can take on more responsibilities like housework, you might even have a bigger urge to create yourself a better form of self-expression–” 

“What does that mean?” 

I felt the words coming but couldn’t stop them. Now I hold my tongue. Leona told me to not interrupt anyone but ‘self-expression’? I don’t know what that is. Still my try to be polite failed. 

The Queen doesn’t seem to mind. No doubt she’s used to being interrupted. 

“Hobbies. Talents. You can become more artistic or musically-inclined. It just depends on what you want to do.” 

“I… I don’t know what I want to do.” 

I like reading but what jobs could you get to just read? I like painting and drawing but who would buy scraps of paper covered in jagged doodles? All grey and smudged? 

I don’t share my art with anyone. I kept them in a shoe box last year till Leona found them. She put them right back under my bed and didn’t tell me if she did or didn’t like them. She probably hated them. I hated them. That’s why I hid them. 

“That’s fine. I didn’t either. I sure wasn’t planning on becoming a ruler at fourteen but I’m happy now.” 

I smile. 

The Queen does seem happy. As happy as I would be when meeting my doctor. _Putting on a brave face_ , is what Leona would call it. The Queen smiles a lot. Without teeth. She talks a lot too. I think it’s because she’s Queen. If she weren’t royal, if she were a normal person again, like me, she’d probably keep her mouth shut. 

We’d been walking for a couple minutes before I begin to pay attention to where we were; a dark, more brown hall. It looks like it was just an aisle connecting the outside to an inner part of the _castle_. There doesn't seem to be many doors or portraits anymore. Just a brown… brown… _corridor_! That’s the word! We’re walking down a sort-of somber corridor. 

“Where are you taking me?” I question.

“What do you know about your parents?” 

She doesn’t answer me but asks me another question? Weird, but I attempt to remember anyway. 

I delve into the depths of the grave field which is my mind. A graveyard mindspace holds too much information. Give me a backhoe and I can remember– _recollect_ something that happened to me when I was, say, two years old. 

It’s like with our Queen. I haven’t ever been able to instantly remember her name, meeting her one time every year and all. But if I find the recently placed monument meant for a special type of remembrance, I can say it, her name, even if it tries to squirm its way under my tongue. 

I scan the tombstones. Plot after plot I read. Cracked leaves and browning petals I rake away. Till I come across two which spark joy. Carved from limestone. Side by side. They’re white and silver with their etchings. 

“That my mom was a year older than my dad. That they lived here with my uncle. That they both were ambitious. That they died for me… here.” 

“Have you ever seen their faces?” 

I pause. I mean, I stop walking. 

Come to think of it… neither my uncle or guardians showed me a picture of them. Ever. I’ve never seen my mom’s face, or my dad’s. I’ve been told about them. I’ve been told what they did for me. I’ve been told how they died. Why hasn’t anyone told me of… of how they look? What they looked like… It never occurred to me… 

No matter how much I scan now… I can’t find an image. A smile. 

“No… No-one’s described them.” 

The Queen nudges me with her arm. 

My eyes seem fine now. Her grin is enough for me to seem happy again. 

“Time for your present.” 

The Queen directs me toward a door, opening it before me before I even thought to move. Her hands appear on my shoulders, slowly guiding me into the pale blue, weakly-lit room. 

It’s cylindrical, there is no sound or echo of our steps… so it’s _anechoic_ , and there are hundreds of photo frames on the walls. Hundreds and hundreds of blank faces and black frames.

The Queen ushers me toward a spiral staircase. I’d always wanted to walk up or down one. They’ve always seemed so aesthetically pleasing but in this room? In this… _mausoleum_? 

The _clanging_ of our footsteps on metallic steps are the only sounds. A thin metal plate made into a floor we walk across and approach the one thing in this room that has color. 

Black and white photos a foot apart on every side. Like booking photographs. Two I’m meant to look at are sit side by side. They’re the two I am only to be interested in. In front of their frames are vibrant bouquets of blue wildflowers. They are the only colored things in this dead, grey room. 

In the photo frames are two people. One a woman, the other a male. Neither smiled. The woman has light hair and light eyes. The man has dark hair and light eyes, only… his are off. 

I knew it! I knew, somehow, that my eyes were because of one of my parents! Our pupils sizes were different, one larger than the other. I knew having irregular pupils were genetic! _Anisocoria_ … 

I realize I’d never seen their names written out either, or printed, or signed. I’d only ever heard them be said. 

My fingers trace the cold metal nameplates. Some form of recognition comes to my lips with reading out my parents names. 

“D… Deirdre… and Regan.” 

Their birthdays. Sixteen months and four days apart. Their death dates. One in the same. The same night. Fourteen years ago. 

“The Prægers’ were very respected." The Queen says _sotto voce_. "All in their tiny time lived here. Beyond the photos are vessels holding their ashes.” 

We stood there, still in the quiet, looking at my parents. I wasn’t a ‘Præger’ but I also was. There were four of us with the same last name at one point in time. 

I don’t see my uncle’s face anywhere.

“Ma’am… Is my uncle here?” I ask. 

“No,” she instantly says. 

It’s not in hope that I asked. _Never hope for something that might be wrong_. It’s not with hope when I repeat myself. 

“Is my uncle here?” 

I must’ve sounded too… too chipper in my asking. 

Tone turning solemn, she says, “No,” again, but more slowly. 

I think ‘Distraught’ is the right word to describe how I feel. My uncle was the one person I wanted to live with. Leona is nice and takes care of me but blood is blood. 

“No. Nothing of him has been found.” She continues. “He’s still missing I’m afraid.” 

The Queen passes behind me. She picks up the photos frames, which were just situated on their name plates, revealing the same photos behind them. Only those were embedded in the walls. Just like everyone else’s. I just didn’t realize it because I selfishly didn’t and don’t care. 

Offering them to me, I realize these were my gifts. My birthday surprise. It was my parents. Their faces. Their eyes. Answers. I have a way in remembering them now. 

I take hold of them. My breath wants to start to hiccup. My throat feels thick. I press my parents against my chest in the tightest of squeezes. It’s a hug I’ll never have but it’s the best I can do. 

I thank her, as I’ve been taught to. I could’ve been choked up in tears by now but I think with the Queen there she helped. 

_Never cry in front of someone who won’t dry your tears_ , Leona used to say. 

No Queen needed to clean up someone else’s mess. 

The Queen took hold of my shoulders again to escort me back downward toward, I’m guessing, the exit. The spiral staircase keeps my head spinning as if all the memorial plaques didn’t already. Death is dizzy-ing. 

My parent’s memorials were right above the door, just a few feet up and accessible by a landing. I find this out when petals from the bouquets flutter down in front of us. Pretty little blue slivers. 

The Queen walks on them when she goes to open the door. 

I pause. 

The cold photo frames in my arms stop me. The _multitude_ of shiny picture frames in the walls stop me. The images of emotionless people stuck in time stop me. 

I turn around in circles to look at every photograph, every mount and name display I could read before they all get too blurry for me to see clearly. 

How many photos were here? How many names? How many cremation containers are there? 

I, of all things, ask, “How did all these people die?” 

The Queen keeps her back to me. 

It’s a little thing again. She always tries to look at people when she talks to them. She’s always looked at me when we talk. It makes me feel grown up and worth something. But now she won’t budge. Her hands are pressed against the door and its frame. If I didn’t know better, she was crying. But her muscles are just locked and make her body shake.

Intense. Awkward. Intimate. What could’ve described the moment? 

“Ma’am?” 

I start to walk toward her and her head drops, so I stop. 

“From people like me.” 

I didn’t expect that. 

“What… What are you?” 

A twinge of pain I felt from one of my nails. Pressing my fingers deep into the frames wasn’t a good, subconscious thing to do after all. 

“I’m something you were once made to fear.” 


End file.
